


Kennig's Ransom

by Dragonbat



Category: Dungeons and Dragons (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Daddy Issues, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27856193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonbat/pseuds/Dragonbat
Summary: While waiting for another chance to get home, the Young Ones find themselves hunting for a kidnapper... Or so they think!
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Kennig's Ransom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alessandriana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandriana/gifts).



> Disclaimer: The Dungeons and Dragons cartoon was created by Marvel Productions and is currently owned by Disney (at least, according to TV Tropes). Hank, Eric, Sheila, Bobby, Presto, Diana, and Uni belong to them. Squire Dorset, Kennig, and other supporting characters are all mine. I am receiving no financial remuneration for this work of fanfiction. 
> 
> Thanks to Kathy, Debbie, and Gaialux for the beta!
> 
> Written as a gift for Alessandriana for Yuletide 2020.

# Kennig's Ransom

“How much longer are we going to have to hang out here?” Eric demanded, as he stormed into the common room of the inn and flung himself down at the table.

Sheila threw him a sympathetic smile. “You know what Dungeon Master said,” she reminded him. “We’ve got to stay here until—”

“Until the neap tide,” Eric finished irritably, “when the water level drops low enough for us to walk across the Archipelago of Idiocy—”

“Ildantir,” Presto corrected.

“I like mine better,” came Eric’s retort.

“Hey,” Diana put in, “it’s not like it’s Dungeon Master’s fault that we can only get to the Obelisk of Porthadiroth once every forty-five days and we turned up here on Day Three of the cycle.”

Eric poured himself a mug of water from the pitcher on the table. (He’d tried watered ale some time ago— apparently, the realm didn’t have a legal drinking age—but it had tasted so vile that he’d never tried it again. Besides, the work they’d taken on to sustain themselves in the short-term didn’t pay so well that they could afford to waste copper pieces on drinks they couldn’t swallow. Eric was still trying to make up his mind whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that he had to worry about _that_ for the first time in his life.) “I thought four suns were bad enough,” he grumped. “But forty-five day months are going too far. Do you have any idea how many more days that would add onto every school year back home?”

“If you can’t figure out the answer,” Hank smirked, “you probably need the extra class time. Hey. With three moons up there, we’re lucky the months aren’t longer.” He tilted his soup bowl, sending its dregs into his spoon. “We’d better finish up fast. Those four suns you mentioned are just about setting, and we need to be at Squire Dorset’s warehouses by dark.”

“Night watchmen,” Eric muttered. “And then we’ll crawl into bed just when everyone else is getting up and starting to make noise. Whose brilliant idea was this again?”

“Are you kidding?” Bobby exclaimed. “I think it’s great staying up past bedtime!”

“Myeah! Rast redtime!” Uni chimed in.

Eric rolled his eyes. But he grabbed the two meat hand-pies his friends had saved for him from off the platter in the middle of the table, took a bite from the first, and washed it down with a gulp of water. When they left, he carried the second one wrapped in a bit of oilcloth and tied to his shield strap for later.

* * *

During the day, Squire Dorset’s grain market compound was a noisy, bustling concern, crowded with clerks and customers, hagglers and loiterers. There were stables for one’s horses or mules, a pavilion where young children might be left to play under an attendant’s supervision while their parents shopped, and stalls and tables ringing a wide open courtyard, each selling a different kind—or quality—of grain, from unhulled kernels and coarse animal fodder to the finest grinds of bread and pastry flours.

At night, though, it was eerily quiet. Not completely so; the breeze stirred the branches of the trees outside the compound walls. Grain was, unfortunately, bound to attract rodents and a number of cats prowled the grounds, barely sparing a glance for Squire Dorset’s newest human (and unicorn) employees.

“I think I heard something,” Eric whispered to Bobby as the two patrolled the long aisles of the west-most warehouse, where sacks of rye flour lay on pallets, neatly stacked.

“Probably just a mouse,” Bobby said. “Or a cat. Or a mouse _and_ a cat.” Uni whickered softly and Bobby turned to her, his playful expression yielding to something more serious. “What’s wrong, Uni?” he asked quickly.

“Oh, sure,” Eric muttered. “Don’t mind when _I_ hear something, but when the baby unicorn hears something—”

“Quiet!” Bobby snapped, readying his club. “It’s coming from over there.” He pointed to a narrow recess between two of the pallets. “Shine your lantern,” he ordered the older boy. “Let’s see what’s in there.”

Eric grumbled under his breath, but he did come forward and stoop down to do as directed. He wondered how the other four were doing on their patrols; Squire Dorset had three warehouses and the Young Ones had split up, two to a building. Or, in their case, since Bobby insisted on counting Uni, three. A moment later, he smiled. “I think you were right,” he said. “It looks like it’s one of the cats.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Phew. For a minute there I thought— _Aaah!_ ”

He jerked upright and leaped backward as a hairy disembodied hand scuttled out from between the flour sacks.

“What is it?” Bobby asked, peering down at it in delighted curiosity.

“Forget that!” Eric snapped. “Where’s the rest of it?”

The hand—half-again the size of the average human’s, turned from Bobby to Eric, apparently sizing up its company. Then it reared up on its wrist and advanced on Eric, its fingers curving stiffly to display claw-like yellow nails.

Eric screamed.

“Hey!” Bobby yelled. “Leave him alone!”

The hand quivered gently, and Bobby had the strange idea that it was _laughing_. And then it launched itself into the air, hurtling for Eric’s face.

Eric just barely got his shield up in time and the hand ricocheted off, to fall to the ground. “Aaah! No! Go away!” he yelped.

“Myeh!” Uni bleated. “Ngho m’way!” Her upper lip drew back, displaying a set of even white teeth, as she pawed the ground, leveled her horn, and charged.

The hand turned its palm toward her, noticing her for the first time. For a moment, it froze. Then it turned on its wrist; its fingertips hit the floor and it scurried off, probably in search of easier, non-magical prey.

“Whoa!” Bobby exclaimed. “Good girl, Uni! You saved Eric! Boy, wait ‘til the others hear about this!”

Eric groaned. Saved from a disembodied hand by a baby unicorn. So far the evening’s one saving grace was that the rest of the gang hadn’t been around to witness it. “Just give her the Bronze Star while you’re at it, why don’t you?” he muttered, flinging his hands in the air as he stalked off down the aisle without looking to see if the others were following.

* * *

There were no further surprises on their watch and later, when they met up with the others at the gate of the compound, Bobby, Eric, and Uni learned that they’d been the only ones to find anything at all out of the ordinary. The day watch commander gave the Young Ones a cheerful greeting as the seven trooped back toward the inn.

“Can we get some sausage this time?” Bobby wheedled. “I don’t think porridge is going to be enough.”

Sheila hesitated. “What do you think, Hank?” she asked. “I mean, he _is_ a growing boy.”

Hank frowned and took out the draw-string pouch he now wore under his green tunic on a thong about his neck. He pulled the others into the doorway of a shop that hadn’t yet opened for business and, while they clustered close to block the view of any nosey passers-by, he shook a handful of coins into his palm. Most were copper, but there were five silver pieces glinting there, too. “I don’t want to go through this too quickly,” he admitted. “Squire Dorset made it clear that he wanted people who’d be sticking around for a while and he only hired us in the first place because he didn’t have anyone else.” He winced, remembering that interview.

“I told you to tell him we were moving here,” Eric reminded him. “He didn’t have to know for how long!”

“I know, but I didn’t want to lie to him,” Hank said. Mentally, though, he conceded that Eric did have a point. As it was, they were only employed until the squire could find other workers—workers who wouldn’t be gone with the next neap tide. And since they didn’t know from one day to the next whether they had a job, Hank was being careful with their money. Counting it now, he smiled.

“Okay,” he said. “We can get some sausage _with_ the porridge _if_ everyone’s okay with bread and soup for supper tonight.”

“That thick soup with the peas and barley?” Presto asked. “I mean, it’s not going to be just broth and onions, right?”

“I don’t think so,” Diana said thoughtfully. “We’ve been here a week and that soup has been on the menu every night.”

“We’ll check with the innkeeper to make sure,” Hank said, still smiling. “I don’t want to face tonight’s shift hungry either.” He dropped the coins back into the pouch and slipped it back inside his tunic. “Okay. Breakfast. Then bed. And later, we can check out the market again.”

“What about lunch?” Eric demanded.

“We’ll check out the market again.” Hank repeated with a grin, jerking his head toward a number of empty stalls. Later, they would be occupied by vendors hawking various street foods and confections—mostly within the budget that they were doing their best to stick with during their stay.

“All right!” Bobby exulted, punching his fist into the air, while Uni bleated her approval beside him.

* * *

Once assured that the hearty soup would be on the supper menu, Hank happily ordered a sausage platter to accompany the large tureen of porridge—made rich with honey, cream, and some kind of fruit that they couldn’t yet identify.

“Maybe we’ll figure it out at the market,” Sheila suggested, as she ladled some into her bowl. “We should probably get _some_ fruits and vegetables.” At her younger brother’s groan, she went on, “well we can’t just eat fried dough and honey candy for lunch!”

“Speak for yourself, Sis!” Bobby retorted.

“For once, I agree with short-stuff,” Eric interjected, as he stabbed the serving fork into a sausage link.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” a new, but not completely unfamiliar voice broke into their conversation.

“Squire Dorset!” Hank exclaimed, automatically sitting up a bit straighter. “You’ve found someone else already?” he guessed, trying not to sound too upset.

The bearded man shook his head. “No, no,” he said. “Nothing like that. I was wondering whether you noticed anything out of the ordinary last night?”

“You mean like that Thing T. Thing we caught in the rye?” Eric demanded. Then he shook his head in annoyance. This guy had never watched an Addams Family episode in his life—and even those who had probably didn’t necessarily remember Thing’s complete name. That reference was going to fly right over the plumed feather of the velvet cap on his head.

Squire Dorset, however, didn’t seem to notice. “I know I set you to the warehouses,” he said. “Not my counting house; I keep no coins there overnight, so I saw no need. But if by some chance you did see…?”

“Squire Dorset?” Sheila asked, realizing that for all the man was trying to hide it, he was deeply agitated.

The squire shook his head. From out his pocket, he pulled out a folded square of paper. “My son,” he said, his face crumpling as he spoke. “My son has been abducted! His kidnappers left this note in the balance pan of my scale. I was hoping that you’d spotted them, somehow. Though of course you’d have sounded the alarm if you had… I…” He leaned heavily on the table. “Please,” he said. “Please help me find him.”

Hank rested a hand briefly on the distraught man’s shoulder. “Sure,” he said. “Sure we will.”

“Well, there goes our sleep,” Eric muttered.

* * *

The grain market was as busy as usual, but this time the Young Ones paid no attention to the hubbub that surrounded them as they followed the squire to his counting house. Once the oaken door shut behind them, the sounds of commerce dwindled to nearly nothing. Only then did Hank speak.

“When did you last see him?”

Squire Dorset frowned. “You know, I’m not sure. I’ve been keeping long hours here; Kennig’s usually in bed by the time I go home and not yet awake by the time I come back.”

“What does he look like?” Presto asked.

The squire’s frown deepened. “Dark hair. I-I think it’s to his shoulders. At least, I seem to recall that it was, the last time I noticed. Green eyes. Wait. Perhaps they’re blue. He’s a head shorter than I am. At least, I think he is.”

“Do you have a picture?” Sheila wanted to know. Then she fought not to slap her own forehead. There weren’t any cameras in the realm, unless they’d been brought by someone else who’d been pulled here from another world.

Dorset didn’t seem to find her question strange, though. “No portrait,” he said. “I’d thought about having one painted of the family a while back, but I realized I hadn’t the time to sit for it.” He shook his head. “I should have found some.”

“How old is he?” Bobby wanted to know. “Kennig?”

“Twelve,” the squire answered. “Wait. I might be forgetting his past birthday.” He frowned. “Or should that be ‘birthdays’? How old…? Let me think, now.”

“How about friends?” Diana asked. At Dorset’s blank look, she tried again. “Does he have any hobbies? Interests?”

“I’m sure he must,” Dorset said. “But I don’t know if I can say... Wait. Wait just one moment…” He walked over to the wall, where a large cabinet stood and pulled out a narrow drawer. “Here!” he held up a sheet triumphantly. “He paints!”

The young ones looked at the crude watercolor. “How long ago did he paint this?” Hank asked gently.

“Well, I-I’ve had it for some time,” the squire said. “I think he must have been about five or six.” His face fell. “Come to think of it, perhaps he’s given up on art by now.”

“Okay,” Eric said. “So, just to recap, you’re not sure how old he is, how tall he is, how long his hair is, what color his eyes are, or how long he’s been gone. You don’t know who his friends are or what he likes doing. You’re his father and you don’t know the first thing about him, am I right?” Both his voice and his temper had risen during his summation, and his friends were now staring at him uncomfortably.

“Whoa,” Hank clapped a hand to the cavalier’s arm. “Calm down, Eric.”

“Yeah,” Bobby chimed in. “Take it easy.”

“Sure,” Eric snapped. “Calm down. Take it easy. Play quietly. Don’t be a nuisance. Here; take some money and go buy yourself something. Whatever you want. Just stay out of the way. Just…” He realized what he’d just said and his hands went cold, as his heart seemed to drop to his stomach. He looked about him and realized that his friends were looking at him as though he’d just lost his mind. Of course they were.

And maybe, he thought tetchily, he had, because instead of going on with his usual ranting and griping, he flexed his arm, breaking Hank’s grip and then, with his friends’ protests and concerns swirling past him, he spun on his heel and marched himself out of the office, out of the compound, and out in the street.

* * *

“Eric!” He heard Presto calling after him, but he didn’t slow his stride.

Diana, though, could catch up without breaking a sweat. “Hey!” she said, matching step with him. Then, more concerned, “Hey, talk to us. What _was_ that back there?”

For a moment, Eric considered answering, but he knew what they’d think: Wimpy crybaby Eric found something else to complain about. They’d think he was being stupid, as usual. Or worse, they’d feel sorry for him. And they still wouldn’t understand. “Nothing,” he said shortly.

“It didn’t sound like ‘nothing’,” Presto replied.

“Well it was!” the cavalier snapped. “Just business as usual. Crappy parents, crappy realm… I don’t know why we got dumped here when there was enough of this crap at home!”

“Wh-what?” Diana asked, but Eric was already moving on, faster than before.

Presto started to follow, but the acrobat held him back. “Leave him, Presto,” she said. “He wants to be alone right now.”

“Yeah, but—”

They watched as he reached the inn and turned inside. “I know,” Diana cut him off. “But let him calm down, first. We can try talking to him later.”

* * *

Eric was upstairs in the room he was sharing with the other three boys when Presto went to check, nearly an hour later. The cavalier’s mail, cape, and tunic lay strewn in the space between his bed and Bobby’s, and its owner was lying in bed.

“Eric?” Presto ventured hesitantly. “Uh… we’re heading off to the market now.”

There was no answer from the bed.

“Okay. We’ll be back later. I guess I’ll wake you up when it’s time for supper.”

Eric listened intently for the creak of the door as it swung closed once more, and for the sounds of the magician’s footfalls to recede as Presto made his way back along the hallway’s bare wooden floor and down the stairs toward the inn’s common room before he dared to open his eyes again.

Then he gripped the edge of the coverlet tightly in both hands, twisting it as hot tears finally rolled down his cheeks and onto his pillow.

* * *

Eric was asleep when the others trooped back from the market for some needed rest before their shift began, but he was gone from the boys' room when Hank awakened around suppertime. He quickly woke Presto and Bobby and then stepped out in the hallway to wake up the girls in the room beside theirs. As headed down to the common room, they weren't sure whether Eric would be there, but he was at the table grimly shoveling stew into his mouth, seeming oblivious to his surroundings.

"Buddy?" Hank asked. "Are you going to be okay working tonight?" He refrained from mentioning anything about the soup they'd agreed to order earlier; Eric hadn't been with them for lunch, after all.

The cavalier nodded and reached for his mug of water. "Sure," he grunted. "I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine," Sheila said. "I'm worried."

"Well, don't be. Everything's peachy. I mean, what could possibly be wrong, right?"

"You tell us," Diana replied. "Seriously, Eric, talk to us."

Eric shook his head. "There's nothing to talk about. But you guys better order something before we're late for the warehouse."

* * *

The night passed uneventfully. At daybreak, instead of returning to the inn, the young ones made their way to Squire Dorset’s office. Eric’s jaw was set in a hard line and his agitation of the day before seemed to have faded, replaced by a measured gait and a stern visage. Diana noticed though, that the fingers on his free hand—the one that wasn’t attached to the arm carrying his shield—twisted and twirled with each step he took.

“Eric?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he said. By now, the statement was getting to be a reflex.

If Diana hadn’t known him as well as she did, she’d probably have believed him. His voice was steady and he sounded almost as calm as Hank. But Eric wasn’t Hank, and he didn’t usually do calm very well. “You sure?” she asked.

For a moment, Eric’s mask seemed to slip away and she saw the pain in his eyes—pain, and a bit of the temper he’d shown yesterday. Then he gave her a tight smile. “As fine as I ever am in this crazy place,” he said easily, but the cheer in his tone was brittle and sounded forced.

* * *

Squire Dorset was waiting at the counting house door, his face haggard. “Thank you for coming now. I… I know you must be tired after your night’s work,” he said. He clapped a hand to his mouth, barely in time to smother a yawn. “Forgive me,” he added. “I’ve been out of my mind with worry; I haven’t slept since Kennig was taken.”

“We understand,” Hank said. “Can you show us where you found the ransom note?”

“Yes,” Dorset replied at once. “Of course. Come inside.” He produced a large brass key, which he used to unlock the door. “I wasn’t here at all yesterday,” he added, as he ushered them up a flight of stone stairs. “I was making my own inquiries. I suppose I should have tried to throw myself into my work to distract me, but he’s my son. I don’t want to be distracted!”

“You shouldn’t be,” Eric said quietly. He didn’t say anything further, but Diana realized that his fingers weren’t fluttering nearly as much.

“Here,” Dorset said, unlocking another door. “I’d pulled out my ledger,” he walked over to a roll-top desk. The roll-top was down, but... “Funny,” he said. “I must have been more upset than I knew if I forgot to lock it.”

“Wait,” Sheila said, taking a step closer and bending down to examine the keyhole. “Sorry. It’s just that I don’t think you did.” Without touching the metal lock, she drew the squire’s attention to a number of scratches. “These look fresh,” she said. “Did you have anyone patrolling outside while we were in the warehouses?”

“No,” Dorset replied. “I don’t keep any coin here. The grain’s what needs protecting. Still,” he frowned, “the ledger does contain transaction records, including merchandise sold on credit. I suppose it’s possible that someone sought to clear out a debt by removing its record. Fortunately, the contracts are stored elsewhere; this is merely a quick reference,” he explained, as he opened the roll-top. “It’s still here,” he said, lifting the heavy brown tome. His eyes widened. “Wait,” he said. “This wasn’t here before.”

“What is it?” Bobby asked.

Dorset set the ledger down on his desk, flipped the front cover open, and removed a folded sheet of paper that had been sticking out. He unfolded it and his agitation grew. “It appears to be a ransom note.”

* * *

“We thought about leaving this at your house, but we wanted to put it in a place you’d be sure to look,” Eric read, keeping his tone even. “Bring three hundred gold coins, three unbranded riding horses, thirty pounds of roasted millet, forty-five pounds of flaxseed, twelve pounds of dried meat, six filled waterskins, and six wool blankets to Lighthouse Crag at a quarter to midnight tonight. Load the supplies onto the horses and leave them picketed on the crag. Fail and you’ll never see your son again. Tell the watch and you’ll never see your son again. Use any sort of tracking spell and you’ll never see your son again.” Eric looked up with a strange expression on his face. “And it’s signed, ‘The Kidnappers’.”

Squire Dorset raised a hand to his forehead and massaged it. “I can get the supplies together easily enough,” he said. “It won’t take me more than an hour or so to assemble it all. Yes,” he continued. “Yes, it’s a small enough price to pay for Kennig’s return, if his captors are honest about releasing him.”

“Uh…” Sheila took a hesitant step forward. “I-I don’t want to bring you down, but the note doesn’t say anything about letting him go if you give them what they want; it just says what’s going to happen if you _don’t_.”

Squire Dorset’s eyes widened. “That’s very true,” he said. “For all I know,” his voice rose with his agitation, “they mean to use the ransom to leave town and then kill him when they think they’re far enough away! If those are their plans, then…” his voice turned grim, “I’ll get the ransom together,” he said. “All of it, just as stipulated. But I want you to bring it to the crag. And when the kidnappers come for it, you’re to apprehend them. Find out where Kennig is and bring him home. Should his abductors resist capture, should they be unforthcoming with the information you need, then I authorize you to use every means at your disposal to persuade them of their folly. By dawn, I want those people in the village gaol… or in their _graves_.”

* * *

“Okay,” Hank said, once they were back in the street. “I think one of us should hang out at the inn and listen. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the kidnappers will be there talking about the ransom. The rest of us should fan out through the market, asking around in case anyone saw or heard something and…”

“I don’t think so,” Eric said quietly.

“Of course not,” Bobby scoffed. “You never want to do what—”

“Bobby, shush.” To the young barbarian’s astonishment, it wasn’t Sheila, but Diana who’d spoken.

The acrobat was frowning a bit, but she jerked her head in the cavalier’s direction, and while her tone was questioning, there was no challenge in it. “Eric?”

“Uh…” Eric flushed as five pairs of eyes (six including Uni’s) locked on his face. “Um,” he looked down. “Just call it a hunch,” he mumbled.

“What kind of hunch?” Diana prompted.

Still looking at the ground, Eric said, “Could we, maybe, check out that Lighthouse Crag? If we’re supposed to go there with the ransom, maybe he—I mean, _they_ are staying somewhere close to it.”

Hank thought for a moment. “You could have something there,” he said. “When we were at the shore the other day, I think there were a few caves above the high water mark. Maybe the kidnappers are in one of them.”

“If there are any,” Eric muttered.

“Huh?” Presto blinked.

Eric flinched. He hadn’t realized he’d said that last bit aloud. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “I mean, why wouldn’t there be any kidnappers, right?” He forced a laugh, all too conscious of the others’ stares. But then, they shrugged it off as he’d hoped they would. He could just imagine what was going on in their minds. _There goes poor old Eric, babbling on about nothing. As usual._ Yes, he had a hunch, but how often did _those_ pan out? And what he was thinking did sound a little farfetched, even to him. But he still thought he was right. Well, they were going to the crag, so they’d find out for sure, one way or another. And if he didn’t tell the others what he suspected, then they wouldn’t laugh at him if he turned out to be wrong after all.

* * *

There wasn’t any lighthouse at Lighthouse Crag; not anymore. But the ruined base of a structure that probably had been one rose from the rocky spur to a height of some thirty feet. Waves lapped the shore, each breaking a bit higher on the sand, though it would probably be at least two or three hours before they reached the high water mark. “Well,” Hank said, gesturing vaguely to the left, “there are the caves. I don’t see any tracks or signs of a struggle, but the tide’s coming in now. If anyone’s in there, and if they crossed the beach at low tide, the ocean would wipe out any traces that anyone had come this way.” He shook his head apologetically. “Or, it could be a dead end and they’re nowhere near here.”

“Let’s check it out anyway,” Bobby suggested. “I mean, we walked all the way here, we might as well take a look.”

“ _I’ll_ take a look,” Sheila announced. “Those kidnappers could be dangerous—”

“Not more dangerous than Venger!”

“Myeah!” Uni chimed in, but Sheila was having none of it.

“All the same, there’s no point in all of us going. That path up looks pretty narrow; we’d have to go single file. If they’ve got weapons, they’ll be able to pick us off one by one. And what if they decide to kill Kennig before we can get there?”

“But the note only said that Squire Dorset shouldn’t tell the watch. We’re not the watch!”

“Yeah,” Presto ventured, “but if they spot us, they might not ask who we are before they…” He gulped.

Sheila nodded. Then she smiled and pulled up the hood of her cloak of invisibility. “But they won’t spot me!” she proclaimed.

“Sheila?” Hank cautioned. “Walk on the dry sand until you get to the trail. They’ll see your boots if you go on the wet.”

“Got it,” her voice acknowledged. “I won’t be long.”

“You won’t try rescuing Kennig without me, will you?” Bobby pleaded.

This time, her voice was already several yards off. “I’m just taking a look around,” she reassured her brother. “I won’t do anything else without the rest of you guys.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Somewhat mollified, Bobby sat down on a large boulder, one hand resting on Uni’s mane. The others quickly found seats of their own and settled back to wait.

* * *

Waiting was making Eric antsy and, after ten minutes or so, he got to his feet and started walking aimlessly in the direction of the ocean. He wasn’t overly surprised when he heard a step behind him and turned to see Diana following.

“Eric? Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Eric shrugged. “What’s to tell? Someone’s in trouble and we’re helping them; business as usual, right?” He snorted. “Probably miss our chance to get home again because we’re too busy saving their necks, just like every other time, too.”

“Eric?”

His sneer dropped away and he turned back to the ocean. “I don’t want to talk,” he said quietly.

Diana hesitated. “Do you want me to go back to the others?”

His shoulders slumped. “Do what you want,” he said, still in that same overly-calm, quiet voice. But a sigh of relief escaped him when he heard her take a step closer. For a time, the two stood there, watching as wave after wave crashed on the shore, each slightly higher than the last.

“Sorry,” Eric said finally. “I guess this is getting to me.”

“Being trapped here, you mean?”

Eric shook his head, but he was smiling a little now. “That’s always getting to me. No. I mean what’s going on now. I don’t think…” He hesitated. “Did anything about that ransom note seem a little weird to you?”

Diana thought for a moment. “Well, I guess they’re planning on leaving town. I mean, they asked for money, sure, but they put a lot of thought into horses, food, supplies…”

“Yeah. But that bit about wanting to leave the note where they knew he’d find it, that…” His voice trailed off, and when he spoke again, it was with more than a little bitterness. “It’s the kind of thing I thought about doing when…”

“When…?”

Eric shook his head. “I’m probably wrong and the kidnappers did write that note, but…”

“Wait. You think someone else wrote it _for_ them?”

“I don’t think there’s been a kidnapping, okay?” Eric snapped. And then a moment later, “I told you it was stupid.”

“No, you didn’t, actually,” Diana said. “You’ve been stopping yourself before you got that far.”

Eric snorted. “I guess I have been,” he admitted. Then, uncharacteristically, he added, “Sorry. But that note… It’s like something I always wanted to write to _my_ dad.”

“You think Kennig wrote it,” Diana realized.

Eric nodded. “I guess we’ll see if I’m right when Sheila gets back. Come on; we should head over to the others.” He turned on his heel and started striding up the beach, not checking to see if Diana was following. She only hesitated for a moment before hurrying to catch up.

* * *

It was hard to tell who was more astonished by the time Sheila had finished reporting. “You see?” Diana elbowed Eric in the ribs.

“See what?” Bobby piped up.

Eric’s mouth was partly open, but no coherent sounds were issuing from it.

“Eric figured out what was going on from the start,” Diana explained. She beamed at the Cavalier.

“Looks like your hunch was right!” she exclaimed, still grinning.

For a moment, Eric’s lips started to curve into a smile, but then it fell away. “I wanted to be wrong,” he muttered.

“Huh?”

Eric really didn’t want to elaborate, but he didn’t think that Presto was going to leave him alone. “Let’s just say I think I know where Kennig is coming from, okay?” he snapped. He winced when the magician flinched, and realized that his reply had come out more harshly than he’d meant it to.

“Eric?” Hank leaned a bit closer, his face worried. “Are you…” He stopped himself. “Are you _going_ to be okay? I mean, if you’d rather sit this one out, you can wait for us here. It’ll mean Uni won’t have to tackle that climb,” he added.

Eric had been about to agree. Sure, he knew that Hank was trying to give him space, not to mention give him something to do so he wouldn’t feel totally useless. On one level, he understood and appreciated the thought. Because he really didn’t want to deal with… with… _With anyone dealing with the kind of stuff I was dealing with back home_ , he realized. Yeah, he hated this rotten realm, but if someone had pressed him to the wall and demanded he name one good thing about it, it was that he didn’t have to deal with a father who… _Yeah, that._

Well, it looked like he was going to have to deal with it now. The fact that this time, it wasn’t _his_ dad made it a little better, but only a little. So, yes, there was a part of him that really wanted to take Hank up on the suggestion. But sitting in the sand babysitting a unicorn foal was kind of insulting, when you got down to it. Besides, he’d faced orcs, lizardmen, goblins, dragons, and Venger himself, since coming here. Yeah, he’d faced them kicking and screaming and wishing he was anywhere else (even football tryouts!), but he’d faced them. And occasionally—more than occasionally, these days—he’d even been of some use to the rest of the gang. Facing one kid with daddy issues ought to be a breeze. “Nah,” he heard himself saying. “I’m coming. I mean, it’s not like we’re going to fight Tiamat; this should be a piece of cake.” _Christmas fruit cake. Soaked in wayyyy too much booze. With extra candied lemon peel. And_ raisins _._ But by insisting on coming along, Eric realized that he’d just lost any right to complain about what they were doing. So he gritted his teeth, willed himself not to voice a single one of the half-dozen snide remarks that had already sprung to his mind, and fell into step with the others.

* * *

“What if your dad doesn’t come up with the ransom?” a girl’s voice echoed slightly from the cave as the young ones stole closer.

“Then I _don’t_ write to him when we get where we’re going,” another voice answered. Then, bitterly, “Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s glad to get rid of me; maybe the note should’ve said that either he pays or you’ll send me back.”

“He’s going to pay,” a third voice said. “I saw him in the market earlier; he was haggling over horses. And he was specifically asking for unbranded ones.”

“There are other ways to mark a horse,” the girl said. “We’ll have to remember to check their feet; I’ve heard of people cutting designs in their shoes to make a trail easy to follow.”

Unseen by the trio, Hank’s eyebrows shot up at that, and he nodded, impressed.

“Kennig? You sure about this? I mean, if your dad’s getting the ransom together, he’s got to care a little, right?”

“Sure,” the other boy, obviously Kennig, said. “About his reputation. He can’t have word getting out that his son went missing and he didn’t try to get him back. But he’ll probably breathe a sigh of relief when I’m gone, and meanwhile? We’ll have food and supplies to last us a while. And I know we’ll get a good price for the flax further south down the coast.” They could hear the smile in the boy’s voice as he continued. “You remember that hurricane late summer? It was just some hard rain when it got this far north, but where we’re headed? They lost almost their entire harvest.”

“We’ll be rich!” the girl squealed.

“Yeah, but from the gold, not the flaxseed,” Kennig laughed. “Oh, we’ll get something for it; it’s selling for three silver pieces the bushel in the markets here, so I figure we should be able to get twice that in Lannimor. Unfortunately,” he went on, “it’s 56 pounds to the bushel, and we’re only going to have 45; but with everything else we’re carrying, I didn’t want to weigh down the horses if we have to ride fast.”

“So,” the other boy said, “why ask for the flax at all?”

“Because Father had to pay more for it this year, too, and I know he was looking forward to big profits. Maybe it’s just a drop in the bucket for him, but I think he’s going to miss 45 pounds of flaxseed more than he’ll miss 135 pounds of _me._ ”

Forgetting that they were supposed to be sneaking up, Eric let out a low whistle.

At once there was a scuffling and scrabbling as the occupants of the cave scrambled to their feet. “Who’s there?”

Hank gave Eric a hard look, but he took a step toward the entrance, raising both hands in a non-threatening gesture. “Uh… hi,” he said with a friendly smile. “Can we talk?”

* * *

“I’m not going back,” Kennig said flatly, after the young ones had explained their presence. He was a wiry boy who looked like he was in his early teens. “In a day or so, he won’t even notice I left. This way’s better for everyone.”

“That’s not the man we saw earlier,” Sheila protested. “He’s really worried about you.”

“Sure he is.”

“It’s true!” Presto protested. “He hasn’t slept since you left that first note.”

Kennig sniffed. “Yeah, right. Who are you guys, anyway? I thought I knew everyone in this town.”

“We’re just staying here for a bit,” Hank said. “Your father hired us for a few weeks.”

“Yeah,” Eric interrupted. “And he’s paying us overtime until we find you.”

Kennig’s bravado faltered. “He’s paying you to…” He repeated. “You mean, besides paying the ransom?”

“Well, obviously, he’s hoping he won’t have to pay that,” Eric pointed out. “But he’s paying us either way.”

“But you get more if you bring me back.”

Eric raised an eyebrow and looked around at the others. “ _Hank_ ,” he said with exaggerated annoyance, “you’re the leader. The kid’s right; you should’ve negotiated that part.”

Hank sighed. “I guess I haven’t got a lot of experience with that,” he admitted, deadpan. “When I worked summers, it was always for minimum wage.”

Kennig snorted. “Great. He sent amateurs after me.”

“Hey!” Bobby snapped back. “Just because we’re new at tracking down missing people doesn’t mean we’re amateurs. We found you in less than a day, remember?”

“Beginner’s luck,” Kennig retorted, but he sounded a bit less sure.

“We’re not beginners,” Eric sighed. “We just… usually spend time looking for things, not people. Well, one thing, anyway. At least you didn’t vanish in some… mist, just when we got close or anything.”

“Huh?”

Eric shook his head. “You know something, kid? That’s not so important right now. Look, I…” He glanced around at the others and felt his face grow hot again. He knew what he wanted to tell the youngster, but he didn’t want to have an audience around when he said it. “Could the two of us just… talk? Down on the beach? Just… Just hear me out, okay?”

Kennig hesitated. “It won’t take too long? I mean, if my father’s early with the ransom, I don’t want him to see me.”

Hank gave Eric a searching look. Then he nodded slightly at the cavalier’s mute plea. “We’re high enough up that I can see the path from the town from here. I’ll be able to spot your father before he gets close enough to see you. If that happens, I’ll… fire an arrow overhead, all right?”

Kennig nodded. Evidently, Eric realized, it didn’t occur— _couldn’t_ occur—to him that the arrow Hank was describing wasn’t a typical wood-and-fletching type, but one that would serve as both warning to them and a signal to the squire. “Okay,” he said, nodding to Eric. “But just for a few minutes.”

Eric met Hank’s eyes. “Thanks,” he said simply.

Hank shook his head. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Eric nodded. “Me, too, Hank. Me, too.”

* * *

“Well?” Bobby asked. “Can you see them? What do you think they’re talking about?”

Diana smiled. “I think Eric’s trying to talk him into going back.”

The other boy, whose name, they’d learned, was Troke, sniffed. “Yeah, good luck with that. Kennig’s been wanting to get away for a long time now.”

“Not really,” the girl, who’d introduced herself as Mesara, countered. “He just… wants to be respected. And right now? He doesn’t feel like he’s getting that from people in these parts. Just about everyone thinks he’s this spoiled, pampered… well,” she lowered her voice a fraction, “I guess the word would be ‘milksop’. It’s… not one I try to use around him, even if it’s only to tell him I don’t see him that way.”

“ _Milk_ sop?” Bobby repeated. “Is that, like, some kind of bad word?”

“Not exactly, Bobby,” Sheila said. “But it’s not a good one either. It’s… well, I guess it’s like calling someone a wimp.”

“Anyway,” Mesara continued, “Kennig wants to go someplace where he can start over without people thinking that Squire Dorset will let him _play_ at business while he covers every expense. He wants to do it on his own.”

“With the ransom his father’s paying,” Hank said skeptically, still keeping his eyes fixed on the trail.

“Well, he can’t start a business with nothing,” Mesara shrugged. “But if he loses that money, then he’ll have to figure out how to make it back himself. Or, at least, the three of us will. Squire Dorset won’t swoop in with more money, pat us on our heads, and tell us to run off and play while he takes over. If we get into trouble, we’ll get out of it.”

“What if you can’t?” Diana asked.

“We will,” Troke said firmly. “We’ll figure things out as we go.”

Hank sighed. “Somehow,” he said, “I don’t think it’ll be that easy.” He turned his gaze from the trail to the beach, where two figures stood huddled together. In the dusky light of the setting suns, he couldn’t quite tell which was which. What was taking them so long, anyway? He turned back to the trail, glad that Squire Dorset hadn’t yet come into view.

* * *

“It doesn’t matter,” Kennig said. “Even I go back, even if you talk to him, he’s not going to change. He’ll just tell me he’s sorry and buy me a pony.” He kicked at a pebble irritably. “At least, it’ll be a _good_ pony.”

Eric shook his head, but he was smiling just a little. “I take it this whole scheme was your idea?”

Kennig nodded. “I mean, the three of us all wanted to strike out on our own, but without money and supplies, we’d never last out there. And if I asked my dad, he’d just want to know what we’d spend it on and then buy it for me anyway. I thought…” He stopped. “He’d still be buying it for me, if he pays the ransom, right? He just wouldn’t know it.”

“Hey,” Eric said, “it was a good plan; I’ve got to hand it to you. Better than anything I ever came up with, anyway.”

“You?”

Eric shook his head. “Me and my dad? Not so different from you and yours.”

“So, you took off, too?”

Eric sighed. “Not exactly. Look, Kennig, I thought about running away, too, but I never actually…” He took a breath. “Let’s just say my being here wasn’t something I planned on. Even if it had been… My friends and me we’ve sort of learned the hard way that plans have a way of going really wrong really fast. Have you ever been out of this town before?”

Kennig shook his head. “Well, out in the woods to look for mushrooms,” he said.

“Ever slept outside?”

“I can handle that for a couple of nights.”

Eric hesitated. “What are you going to do about the wild animals out there?”

“Hey, I know how to build a fire.”

Eric shook his head. “Okay. First of all, when you don’t turn up safe and sound, your father’s going to be looking for you. You build a fire out in the open, you’ll tell his search parties exactly where you are. Build it in the forest and you’ll be lucky if the wind doesn’t start something you can’t control. Plus there are other things out there besides wild animals. My friends and I found that out the hard way.”

Kennig’s hands clenched into fists. “Look, if I listen to you, I’ll never get out of here! Twenty years from now and I’ll still be stuck in this town with everything I could ask for except what I really want—Hey, is that a shooting star?” He pointed at the sky, where an energy arrow arced high overhead.

Eric was about to tell Kennig that they should get back to the cave, when he realized that maybe he didn’t need to. “I don’t know,” he lied. “Maybe.”

“Wow,” the boy said, his eyes wide with wonder. “I don’t think I ever saw one before. Sorry,” he said quickly.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Eric shrugged. “Hey, I think we’ll have a better view of the sky if we get further down the beach.” He steered Kennig toward a large boulder, big enough to block them from the view of anyone coming down the trail, all the while hoping that the boy wouldn’t notice the footprints that they were leaving in the wet sand.

The waves were creeping up a bit higher now; maybe they had another hour or so before they'd have to get back to drier ground. For a few minutes, they sat on the beach watching them. Hank didn’t fire another arrow. Eric knew that the ranger was wondering what they were still doing out here, but he didn’t have any way of telling him now. “Uh… Kennig?” he said after the silence seemed to have stretched long enough, “Before we saw that, uh, shooting star, you were saying that you’d never get what you really wanted? What was that?”

Kennig sighed. “It’s dumb.”

“So, what?” Eric shrugged. “I once threw a party at a construction site where my dad was building a condo without telling him. Without telling half the people who showed up, either,” he added. “I invited about twenty people. And it seemed like each of them _also_ invited twenty people.”

“What happened?” Kennig asked.

“Hey, you’ve got a building under construction, a lot of buckets and ladders and tools and paint and… people start acting a little nuts. A couple of kids picked up shovels and started duelling with them like they were quarterstaffs. I tried to stop them, especially when it looked like they were going to smash a window. When they ignored me, I threw a bucket of water on them. That seemed to be everyone’s cue to have a water fight. Except that when we ran out of water, somebody got the bright idea to throw _paint_.”

Kennig coughed. “Oops?”

Eric chuckled a bit ruefully. “Yeah. Oops. Things got worse from there. And I guess we were probably making a lot of noise, because one of the neighbors must’ve called the cops. Uh,” he remembered a detail from the ransom note, “I mean, the watch. When they showed up, just about every window on the ground floor had been smashed. Most of the ladders were just splintered pieces of wood. And there was paint all over the walls, all over the floor, and all over _us_.”

Kennig was fighting hard not to laugh, something Eric appreciated, even though he’d left himself wide open for it.

“So, unless your idea was dumber that the dumb stuff that us dumb kids got into that night…”

The boy sighed. “I just want an hour, no, scrap that, make it fifteen minutes; I’m really not that greedy. Fifteen minutes when I can really talk to my dad and he’ll really listen. And not just open his coin purse and tell me to get something in the market to cheer myself up. Just once, I’d like him to hear me out. Even if he doesn’t have all the answers, at least he’ll hear a few of my questions. But if he won’t give me that much, then there’s no point in hanging around here anymore. If all he respects is money and power, then he’ll never respect me until I get some. And if he found out that he’s the one paying for me to get it, then he’ll never respect me at all.”

“Kennig—”

“Don’t tell me some garbage about respect having to be earned! If I’m going to earn anything, I need to go where they’re hiring! And he’s… not. Really, it’s for the best. I didn’t ask for anything he can’t afford to part with and he’ll probably be glad when I’m gone, anyway.”

“The guy who hired us didn’t seem glad you were gone,” Eric pointed out. “More like he was worried sick. Oh, and he also wanted us to catch whoever kidnapped you. Somehow,” he said dryly, “I don’t think it was so he could slap them on the back and thank them for doing him a favor.” He thought he could hear footsteps crunching on the sand and he started talking faster and louder, hoping to either mask the sound or keep Kennig distracted.

“Look,” he went on, “how about we go with you and explain things to your dad. Maybe he… Maybe he just…” Eric fought to talk around the lump that was forming in his throat as he tried to draw on his own experiences. Bits and pieces of family history he was sure he’d tuned out when he’d heard them seemed to surface now, as he tried to fit himself inside the shoes of a man he still resented, but would have given anything to see again now. “Maybe he didn’t start out with everything he’s got now. Maybe he grew up feeling miserable, watching everyone else get things he couldn’t afford and then when he could, he thought that if he made sure you had all the stuff he wanted when he was a kid, you’d be as happy as he’d thought he would be. Maybe he didn’t ask you because he assumed you were, or he was afraid that if you weren’t, he wouldn’t know what to do, or…” His voice was getting ragged, and he knew that if he kept talking much longer, he was going to break down and he wasn’t going to do that with an audience. He took another breath. “Try, okay?”

Kennig pursed his lips together as indecision flared in his eyes. “Maybe,” he said. “I’ll think about it.” He rose to his feet, and Eric followed suit, shaking his cape to get rid of the sand. “I mean,” the boy went on, “it’s still more than four hours till midnight. That’s plenty of time to think about whether it’s worth talking to my—”

His voice trailed off and his eyes grew wide as they circled the boulder and came face to face with Squire Dorset.

“Kennig?” The grain merchant’s voice was ragged with emotion.

_“Father?!?”_

* * *

“I know they saw the arrow,” Hank said worriedly. “I guess they were too close to the shore to risk being spotted if they’d tried coming back here. Though why they’d go on the beach…”

“I think,” Diana said carefully, “that Eric knew what he was doing.”

Bobby laughed. “Eric? Yeah, right!”

“Myeah, yite!” Uni piped up in malicious agreement.

“No, Bobby,” Sheila said, pointing toward the shore. “Look!”

“I don’t believe it,” Mesara breathed.

Troke looked equally stunned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Squire Dorset even give Kennig a pat on the back, before.”

“Well, they’re sure hugging now,” Presto said.

The group watched as the three figures made their way back toward the cave, Eric in the lead, Kennig and his father a couple of paces behind, locked in conversation.

* * *

“How did you know?” Sheila asked, as they all set off back toward the town.

“I didn’t,” Eric sighed. “Not really. But I started thinking about what kind of father would know so little about his kid, and I…”

“Eric?”

He didn’t meet Presto’s gaze. “I came up with my own, okay?” he said quickly. “Except I’m not so sure mine even knows I’m not back from the amusement park yet.” In an undertone, he added, “Or if he knows I went in the first place.” He started when a hand came down on his shoulder and turned to see Diana walking beside him. “I’m fine,” he muttered. “Or, at least, I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t be stuck in this stupid realm, either. That’s life.” He quickened his pace slightly and nearly collided with Kennig and Squire Dorset.

“Eric,” the squire said, with a warmth that belied the sadness in his smile. “I… believe I’m in your debt. More than I am to your companions,” he added.

“Uh…” His face was suddenly warm, and for once, he wished that it was Hank accepting the gratitude on behalf of all of them. He _was_ the leader, after all, and while Eric might gripe about it, the truth was, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“You asked a number of pointed questions of me yesterday,” the grain merchant continued. “Questions I couldn’t answer at the time, and they pained me. Because I should have.” Eric realized that the man still had his arm about his son’s shoulders. Now, he gave them a squeeze. “It’s an embarrassing thing for a man to admit that he doesn’t know his own son. But I’d like to,” he added fiercely. He turned his gaze onto Kennig.

“And to think I almost lost you to…” He heaved a sigh. “Going forward, I want things to be different. I can’t promise you I’ll change overnight. In fact, I’m fairly certain I can promise the opposite. But if you’ll give me the chance…”

Kenning nodded. “Maybe if you brought me into the business. Not as your deputy head,” he added quickly. “I’m not ready for that; I haven’t earned it; and anyone reporting to me would know it anyway. But I’ve picked up a few things already and I’d like to know more. And,” he added wryly, “you might not know much about me, but you do know a lot about the grain business. Maybe we can start there.”

 _And maybe you won’t have to go to a whole other province to impress your father_ , Eric thought approvingly.

“Well,” Squire Dorset mused, “I will need a new crew for the night watch after the next neap tide. If you start now, you’ll be at an advantage over the newer hires in five weeks’ time.” He looked up and smiled to see that the others had drawn close enough to overhear the conversation thus far.

“Would any of you have any objection if there were a seventh guard on your detail?”

“Seventh?” Bobby exclaimed, tousling Uni’s mane. “Don’t you mean _eighth_?”

“Myeah!” Uni bleated. “Myeaith!”

“Bobby!” Hank laughed. “ _And_ Uni,” he added. “That’s enough.”

He turned to Squire Dorset. “We’ll be happy to show him the ropes.” He smothered a yawn. “Excuse me!”

The squire shook his head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking; I should have pulled some people off of dayshift to cover you this evening.”

“It’s okay,” Diana said. “It’s not like we’ve never pulled all-nighters before. But if you could arrange some coffee…?”

“Tea,” Sheila said firmly. “Bobby’s too young for coffee.”

“I’ll ensure that both are provided,” the squire assured them. “I’ll see to it that you’ll have the full morrow to recuperate—day and night. Kennig will join you two nights from now.” He smiled at his son.

“If that suits you?”

Kennig grinned. “It suits me fine, Father. Let’s go home.”


End file.
